Angel
by wildroses-peonies
Summary: Set during Rilla of Ingleside. Conversations between Anne and Shirley bonding about the lost Blythe child, Joyce. Mostly from Anne's perspective. Another one that I wrote long ago for the now-defunct Avonlea Forum.


Shirley sat watching his mother. She was very quiet today. Moving as though  
she saw a ghost-or were a ghost herself. The warmth, radiance, the fire  
that usually permeated her eyes, body, and voice was not there. A flimsy  
glow came and went, but sadness was all that remained.

"Mother, are you thinking about the war?" Shirley asked tentatively.

Anne looked up, startled. The war, which had taken two of her babies, had  
split the family apart, eventually to take Shirley (although Anne did not  
know that yet). Who could forget about the war? But, surprisingly, the war  
was not what she had been thinking of.

"No, Shirley, I was reflecting on if Joyce had lived. I'm glad she didn't  
live to see the world fall apart and crumble."

Joyce. Joyce, the oldest of the Blythe children-and the one who did not  
live. The first House of Dreams baby. Joyce, the wee little white angel,  
wrapped in white, buried in the graveyard.

"You never speak much about Joyce," Shirley said quietly. It was true. All  
the Blythe children knew they had a sister, Joyce, who had died. They knew  
every year Mum and Dad placed flowers at her grave. They had even been to  
the grave. But feel the tradegy, hard as they might (and they sincerely  
wished she had lived), Joyce had died too long ago for them to realize the  
significance her death had on their lives.  
Also, Anne and Gilbert did not Joyce's death to cast a shadow over their  
children's happy lives.

Anne smiled. "Had Joyce lived she would have been so beautiful, so full of  
achievement, so full of life. What a blessing her birth was-and she was  
taken so soon after."

Silence pervaded the kitchen. Susan was outside busily weeding away in the  
garden, occassionally exclaiming (not realizing she could be overheard)  
"Kitchener" or "our dear boys" or "those nasty, revolting..." and other  
snippets. The silence in the kitchen grew heavier and darker. Dr. Blythe was  
in the Glen checking on patients. Rilla and a sleeping Jims were upstairs.  
How that baby was growing! Soon, he would a young man. Well-that was years  
away. Rilla acted as if she didn't-couldn't-love Jims, but it was obvious  
to everyone that Rilla adored him more and more as the months went by. And  
that adoration was turning into love.

"I never thought-how hard-it would be-to love a  
child-anyone-until-this war-came." Shirley wanted to say more, but why  
struggle on? Was war even comparable to losing a newborn child? At least the  
people fighting in the war had had a chance to live, to dream, to fulfill  
some destiny.

"Well, Joyce didn't live and I'm thankful for that." Anne's voice was dark  
and foreboding, even bitter. Well, she had wanted Joyce to live-but not to  
live in a world of bloodshed and doom. A thought flashed across her mind:  
She would rather all her children had never been born than to live in a  
world like this.

But the thought was too hopeless for Anne to cling to. Even in her darkest  
moments (and one very black one was to come), she knew that the war would  
end and that hope was somewhere out on the horizon. Somewhere.

Carefree days like those of her youth would someday bless children again.  
And the earth would again fill with happiness. But the wounds that the  
mothers and fathers of these children carried would take many generations to  
heal.

"I only hope the scars heals in my lifetime."

Shirley, who had been in deep thought, startled at the remark. "I'm sorry  
mother. I shouldn't have asked you to remember such pain. Especially now,  
with all this chaos."

"No, Shirley. It's fine. I am no longer able to disguise my sorrow as a  
smile anyway."

Shirley gave his mother a questioning look. Anne quickly went on.

"Every year, I used to. She died today, so many yesterdays ago. For so many  
years, for-the rest of you-I've hid what her death has meant to me,  
because I wanted you to be happy. Now, with the war-I can't bear to think  
of what might happy to Jem or Walter-and so-when her day comes, and it  
does come amidst all this horror-I remember-and grieve."

"I know I'll live the life you have, mother. Maybe, I won't see the war  
either-" Anne and Shirley each gave each other a keen look, both somehow  
knowing that that statement was a lie-"but I won't forget Joyce-even if I  
never understand what it's like to lose-" Shirley trailed off into silence.

"I know you understand, Shirley."

A few nights later, Anne was out on the verandah. Silence-filled with magic  
and fairy folk-pervaded the quiet yard. Anne felt as if she could almost  
see her children and the Merediths playing, laughing, being joyful and  
happy, carefree down in Rainbow Valley.

Anne did not have premonitions-and it would be many years before she  
learned of Walter's Piper-but her unusual reverie left her full of a  
feeling that happiness would again return to the world.

"Mum," Shirley had crept up behind her. "Mum, I'm glad we talked the other  
day. I'm sorry if I've been insensitive all these years to her death."

"No-you haven't. You just didn't understand. Besides, you have suffered  
too."

More than a few moments of deep thinking followed. Mother and son reluctant  
to break the magical silence that surrounded them. Perhaps, the silence was  
in some way healing to Anne, for she said, rather softly,

"I told you that if Joyce had lived she would have been beautiful and full  
of live and achievement. But" Anne paused and gave her science-minded son a  
small looked "I saw her growu up in the-spirit world-alongside all of  
us."

Shirley almost gave his mother an incredible look. But suddenly a thought  
came to him-struck him with such force, he was caught off-guard. And, yet,  
it seemed somehow right.

"You mean she's been watching over us like a guardian angel."

"Yes," Anne was shocked by the notion-and coming from Shirley, not the  
romantic Jem or the poetic Walter, or-one of the girls, who with Jims  
around, were realizing what life was like as mother (even though Rilla was  
the one raising him, they felt as if they were raising him).

"Yes, she is our guardian angel," Anne said quietly into the night long  
after Shirley had gone back inside.

When Shirley went off to fight in the Great War, he left a note, only for  
Anne.

Dearest Mum,

Remember I am being watched over by a guardian angle. Joyce will be with  
me-keeping me safe-as she is keeping Jem safe. Joyce was with Walter when  
he passed into the spirit world and now he is watching over all of us too.

I promise you I will return home.

When I remember home, I will think of you and Dad-and all of us-and Joyce.  
Susan has been like a mother to me. Thank you for allowing her to be that,  
and for me to be her son..

Shirley

Many years would pass by before Anne showed the letter to anyone else. What  
a dear life she had had-a loving husband, wonderful children-and a  
guardian angel that made life so sweet.

Anne realized that even Joyce had lived quite a life in those few precious  
moments that she had been granted life. And Joyce's spirit had lived  
on-blessing the Blythes in her own sweet way.


End file.
